Hide and Seek
by Amelia Day
Summary: "I'm inanimate. Disposable. Thinking anything more will have me dead...and I just can't give up that easily." Katniss Everdeen is sold against her will to work in an underground club where she forms unlikely bonds as she fights for her survival and freedom. Modern Day AU.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

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Prologue

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"She's perfect," a man whispers in the darkness that incases me. It's a familiar voice. One that sends acute shivers down my spine, causing bile to rise quickly in my throat.

A blinding light shoots out of nowhere and onto my face, causing it to squint and my eyes to snap shut. Blue and purple dots dance around behind my lids.

"Think of the money we'll be cashing in for a chance to see this one dance around."

Another deep voice chuckles throatily in the distance; hungry for wealth, twisted with pleasurable pain.

"She is rather fortunate looking. If she'd just quit scowling."

To these men, I am inanimate. Just another play toy. To them, it's as if I can't hear the things they're saying about me, their plots of what to _do_ with me.

But I won't be treated like a piece of meat willingly...I refuse to go down without a fight for my freedom and respect.

_You lost respect a long time ago, _I snort internally.

"You!"

My eyes open at the quick and jolting movement of my head. The hand clenched around my already bruised jaw is unforgivingly tight, causing me to involuntarily wince.

The eyes locked with mine in the barely visible room are hollow with emptiness. His stale breath, the prickly hair on his face and those weightless eyes are features I've grown familiar with over the past couple of weeks.

His other hand yanks on my long braid, pulling it toward the ground and forcing my head upright. My hands flinch with temptation to attempt taking him on..._again. _The urge to spit in his face, kick him in the shins...beat the _shit _out of this man is so overpowering my body picks up a faint shake.

But I've learned the hard way what happens if I were to get fresh. Chances are, Cray is not alone in this black room. He probably has three or four other strong men itching to get their hands on me if I make one false move. They didn't hesitate before-I have the cuts to prove it.

"Follow me," he grits out after a long pause. A candle lights in the corner of the room, as if by magic and a long path can be seen in the distance. I stand slowly from my place on the uncomfortable chair and steady my wobbling legs before stepping forward.

Cray's grip on my arm is tight and uncomfortable. It'll probably bruise over by tomorrow, but it gives my throbbing scalp a break from his attack on it.

He's been with me throughout this whole nightmare. My _escort _if you will, and has hated me from the moment of our first encounter.

I guess I'd hate me too if I were in his shoes. I gave his balls a nice encounter with my shin, knocking the wind clear out of him and nearly causing my own escape. Too bad for me, Cray had friends standing by who re-captured me and took me into their custody.

Still, my stubbornness created a pretty embarrassing display for the man who couldn't even handle catching a _girl_. He's been the brunt of jokes around here (wherever _here _is) for weeks (or however long I've been here...feels like years).

It's alright that he hates me, I hate him too...maybe more so then the big guns running this whole operation. Because to him, my life is just another business transaction.

"_Nothing personal," _he had the gull to say to me God only knows how far back. _"Just business."_

I consider my knee to his baby-maker the same thing.

He was happy to see me like this, helpless, defenseless, completely at his mercy. Little men are like that, they like to feel _dominant _and strong...but really, he's just working for a bigger man.

Cray is actually just a coward, and I could see that even on his best day.

We continue down a long path of dirt, the sound of his boots echoing off the tunnel walls. We must be underground. The air is artificial and low in pressure. I know a lot about being underground, spent most my life under the earth instead of over the top of it.

It's somewhat comforting, the smells of the tunnels, the muggy air that surrounds it. Reminds me of home, back in Virginia, where all the men in that small little town are miners. I push the thoughts of home and coal mines far from my mind, because I refuse to let this man see me cry or become weakly weighed down with emotion.

My emotions and thoughts are the only thing that still belong to _me. _The one thing they cannot access no matter how hard they try.

We walk in silence for a few minutes more before coming to a large door similar to the one that was in the room I'd been kept away in. He kicks it open with forced power and smirks as it hits the back wall with a heavy thud, then leads me up a long flight of stairs.

Cray fiddles with a large padlock for a couple of seconds before opening yet another door and leading me through. His finger tips clench around the flame of the candle until it's extinguished and it's that moment I realize we're breathing in fresh air.

The pavement below my feet is soaking and the sky above me-barely visible sandwiched between two tall buildings-is pitch black, without even stars to brighten it up.

A rough hand pulls the hood of the sweatshirt I've been instructed to wear over my head forcefully, tying it tight, so my face is hardly recognizable.

"Keep moving," Cray hisses in my direction, jerking on my arm as if I'm an ignorant animal.

Cray walks the empty streets sneakily, keeping a tight grip on me at all times, dragging my body along. He's not overly concerned with my being out in the open. The physical toll my body has taken over the past several days (or weeks) has left me completely vulnerable and weak...unable to do anything but simply follow.

I can only feel the rain on the back of my palms, but it feels nice on my flushed skin. I wish I could pull the hood off and let the rain seep through my grime and blood covered hair and forehead, but I know it's an impossible thing to wish for.

Cray stops short about five alleys from where we descended above the ground, causing me to bump into the back of him. He turns sharply in my direction and his eyes stab into my own before we take another shorter set of stairs leading us to the catacombs of another holding area.

It's impossible to remember the puzzle of twists and turns he leads me down, until we're standing in front of the last locked door I see.

"Listen, this isn't anything personal," he says again, his voice quieter than I've ever heard it. I dislodge my gaze from his own, focusing on the trail of soaked shoe prints behind us.

He sighs shakily before his stone expression returns and fiddles with a long, large padlock. It opens with a few jiggles and he pulls back a steel door at least six inches deep.

He pushes me into the room forcefully, causing my weak body to spiral straight to the ground in a clump. I grunt as my body makes contact with the dirt ground, covering my face in case any blows come my way.

They don't.

Instead, his voice calls out; "Fifteen minutes!" and the door slams behind him.

Panic floods my veins. I lunge for the door, but it's too late. It's locked and only causes more pain to my wrists as I bang helplessly on it, sinking to the ground with furious sobs.

My knees draw up into my chest and my head buries itself into them as my vision blurs.

I cry for a long time, until there's no tears left to shed and I break out into a choking whimper.

It's not until then, when I'm wiping the drying streaks of tears from my eyes that I notice several pairs of eyes focusing on me intently.

"Where _am _I?" I force my voice out harshly.

"Hell."

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Let me know what you think! Thanks for reading.

-Amelia Day


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins.**

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Chapter One

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The voice which responds is light and airy, coming from the corner of the candle lit room.

The petite body steps into the light and a short haired ebony skinned girl makes her way in the direction of my huddled body.

My breath catches at the sight of her; she can't be more than thirteen and is eerily similar to a small girl I left back home.

Her knees crack as she bends down closer to me, eyeing me with curiosity and sadness. It's apparent glitter has been laced in with each of her curls, along with her eyelids and sternum. She wears only a deep green bra and a matching small skirt, cut jaggedly, making her bare skin pebble.

Her eyes are wide and youthful, her small stomach clenched as she breathes deeply and balances on the balls of her feet.

"Hi," she finally speaks, so soft and girlish she sounds angelic, especially in comparison to the voices I've grown accustom to.

I don't speak back, but just stare down at my balled fists like a small child.

She smiles warmly, turning my chin up in her direction.

"It's okay, you're alright. Don't cry," It's not until she makes such a silly command that I realize my tears have yet to cease, but I can't stop them.

_She's lying._ They're all liars-brainwashed liars.

Because I'm definitely not alright.

"Really," she speaks reassuringly. "Come on, come sit with us."

I glance up from my blood and dirt stained knees to find the owners of the eyes that had been trained on me sitting on the dirt ground in a circle. Five hunched bodies; their faces young, but wise beyond their years.

A girl; maybe my age with shoulder length black hair falling straight as a pin down her back smears pink powder over her eyelids, paying little to no attention to me or the scene I've caused.

There's a bulkier boy whose skin tone matches the fairy-like child who guides me closer to the odd group. The palms attached to him that are most likely bigger than my face circle around his thick neck and crack it effortlessly.

Next to him is one other boy, smaller in size and pale in comparison. Only a small piece of cloth rests over his hips, showing way too much skin for my liking. Still, he is undeniably beautiful and runs a cracked and dirty comb through his thick hair.

I wouldn't have noticed the girl at his side if the light hadn't been directly on top of her. She's quiet and does not even look up as I step closer, but her hand is firmly planted in that of the beautiful boy.

I wipe the tear stains away from my face, my eyes stinging with the dirt that gets into them as I slowly make my way to the center of the room, where yet another candle is lit, half the wax running down the sides.

There's an empty beer bottle, chipped and dirty which lies on the ground, pointing at the tall big boy who had been cracking his neck. His eyes pierced through my own, making my steps falter. He's definitely the most intimidating of the people here with me.

He spins the bottle and it lands on the girl with pink eyeshadow.

"Great," she snorts sarcastically. "Re-do."

"No re-do's Johanna," the small girl insists, "You're with Thresh tonight."

She spins the beat up bottle for a quick moment and nods toward the boy who's hardly dressed before turning her attention back to me.

"What's your name?" she asks me and the room grows awkwardly silent. The others advert their gazes from me; picking at their nails or swirling patterns into the dirt flooring. It appears as though they would gladly stay as far away from me as possible.

"Katniss," I mutter.

She squints her face in concentration, "Katniss," she repeats. "That's a pretty name, is that your new name or your old name?"

"...What?" I ask, confusion clear in my voice. There's a couple snickers in the distance.

"Did Snow give you a new name? Katniss is so...different."

"It's my _only_ name," I reply icily. "My parent's named me...not...Snow." _Whoever the hell 'Snow' is. Most likely the ring-leader of this fucked up place._

"I'm Rue."

I nod, relaxing a little with knowing these are semi-normal people in here. As normal as you can be, locked away in a dirt underground prison.

At least their mental capacity seems to be normal, although they've hardly talked. I understand this place is no good, but maybe at least one of them knows _where_ we are. Are we still in the country? I can't remember how long it's taken to get to where I am now, they've had me so twisted and turned around. I doubt we're still in Virginia though, that much I know. The buildings were too tall and the air held a different scent to it.

"Where are we?" I ask again, hoping to get an actual answer...any type of lead as to how we're going to get out.

"A whore house," the girl Rue called Johanna states blandly, followed by the snickers of the bigger boy she named Thresh.

"Johanna!" Rue hisses, sending her a deathly glare. She turns back in my direction and opens her mouth in what seems like an explanation, but shuts it just as quick. There's nothing to explain, no words she can say to console. Johanna is right.

Blunt-but right.

The door which had shut forcefully just minutes ago opens quickly, blowing the candle that rest in the center of the room out with the pressure.

Another match is lit in the doorway and the air around me grows stale. An old man, with white hair and grim features takes a few steps forward, smirking coldly at my feeble form.

"Good evening Mr. Snow," the group says in unison. My head snaps in their direction then back toward the man who wears a black suit, a flower pinned over where his heart lies.

He runs a hand over his chin, the sound of his dry fingers scratching against the stubble of his face pebbling my flesh.

"Where's Peeta?" he asks, his voice like sandpaper.

I jump in surprise as a shadowy figure submerges from the dark corner behind me and a broad shouldered boy steps forward.

"Plan on causing any trouble tonight, Mr. Mellark?"

I could see the muscles in the boys back clench the way I felt my own tightening with each of his words.

"No."

"No, _what?"_

"No...Mr. Snow."

"There's a good lad," Snow speaks condescendingly. "It's a full house tonight, so I don't even want you thinking about trying to pull any shit...that goes for all of you."

"Yes Mr. Snow," they speak all together once more, and he nods his head in approval.

He holds the door open for them to slip past. The fairy-like girl (Rue I think she said her name is) is the last body to exit the chambers. She turns back to me for a moment and offers one sincere smile, then the door slams closed.

"Wait!" I call out, scrambling to my feet and banging hard on the door once more. "Hey! Wait!"

All I hear is footsteps in the distance, growing further away with each slam of my fists.

I'm completely alone.

I think...

But I'm smart enough not to hope. I might physically be alone, but no doubt this place must be bugged...unless they're that confident in their security system, which might be the case. Even if I got passed the large steel door, once in the tunnels it'd be an impossible mission.

I glance suspiciously around the eerie room, my eyes straining to adjust to the poor lighting. I attempt lighting more candles but a match or lighter seems to be no where in site. I make due by using the already half-flaming candles and moving part of their flames onto the wick of others.

The room is still dark, but the added light keeps my heart from feeling like it might cut through my chest and slows the shake thats built in my hands.

The walls are made up of the same dark brown dirt as the ground.

_Why the hell don't they just dig out of here? _I find myself thinking, actually snorting at their stupidity. One run of my finger nails over the cement like dirt answers my question. We are truly sealed in here.

I take a lit candle and move to the darker part of the long area, where the mysterious boy had submerged so suddenly he took me by surprise.

Three sets of bunk-beds are lined up against the wall strategically. Three with dark blue sheets, the other three-pink sheets.

I sit in the corner up against the wall and wonder when they'll all be back. What time is it? It has to be late if they're going out, dressed like _that. _

The fright I've felt on and off has diminished and in it's place comes anger and desperation. My mind tells me to tear this place apart, try and find anything that can possibly serve as a key to getting me out of here.

The more sensible part tells me to calm down. The only thing making a mess of this place would do is get on the wrong side of my new... "roommates" and piss Snow off. My aching body begs me not to mess with the later.

_Don't do anything senseless, _I chide myself. _Gale and Prim...they're probably out looking for me right now. Maybe even Mother._

My heart tightens uncomfortably at the thought of Gale and Prim, so far away...forever away from my grip.

The fairy girl, Rue, reminds me so much of my younger sister in height and demeanor, I can't help but wonder how old the child is...and how she ever ended up in a place like this.

The thought of Prim, sweet innocent Prim, being beat to an unconscious state and locked away the way I am now has me feeling, for the first time in what seems forever, relief. Relief that she is home safe, with Gale and Hazelle to look after her...and far _far _from here.

_Gale. _I squeeze my eyes shut to keep the wetness threatening to spill over a bay. Although for the first time I'm alone, it feels weak to begin sobbing again. Who knows who's actually watching, or listening behind closed doors? This could all just be a simulation.

_Please be looking for me._

How can he not be? Unless he's still angry with me for how I disappeared in the first place. Thinking back to that night sends a rising in the back of my throat...because it's amazing to me how one stupid mistake can drastically alter your entire life.

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I don't remember falling asleep, but I'm dislodged from my unconscious state to the sound of the door handle jiggling. I jolt up too quickly and my head feels light and dizzy. I shake the feeling away and crack my back in time for the door to swing open, and several tired bodies to file in.

Initially, no one sees me huddled in the corner as they slither in silently. Cray does a double count before shutting the door tightly behind them.

Since I had given into much needed sleep I couldn't for sure determine how long the roommates have been missing, and being so far down underground, there is no light to help distinguish day from night either.

Rue has a finger over her mouth, signaling the others to be quiet as she tip toes around.

The silent girl from earlier is the first I notice from the small sea of bodies, besides Rue. I can tell now her hair is piercingly red whereas before it looked almost brown. The ringlets it had been arranged into are now wavy tangles, whipped around messily on her head.

There's smudges of lipstick in the corners of Johanna's face and her eyes are heavier than I remembered. She wears only a large men's dress shirt, and what appears to be nothing else.

She crosses my path first and sends a disgusted grunt over the room before falling onto the lower bed of the bunk in the left corner.

"Just what we needed, an other smelly girl crowding up the room."

I feel my hands tightening into balls and notice Rue roll her dark baggy eyes. She leans down on her knees in front of me, her caps stingingly red.

I narrow in on her knees before jerking back at the feel of someones hand in my hair. It's hers and she plays with the end for just a minute before asking how I've settled in.

I can't help but wonder what kind of question that is. It must show on my face because her cheeks darken and she clears her throat daintily.

"I just meant...for the circumstances. Are you doing alright?"

"What do you think?" I reply and she smiles acceptingly.

"Yeah, I know. The first couple of weeks are rough...but it gets-" she cuts herself off, unable to lie to that extreme. Judging by the tiredness behind their eyes and the stinging on her knees, the tangles in the red heads hair...things do not get easier. It seems I have it just about as easy as its going to get.

I notice everyone retreating into bed. Not bothering even to change their clothing or freshen up their faces. Their bodies slump onto the mattresses and already the faint sound of snoring can be heard.

"You can share my bed, you don't have your own yet," Rue says, climbing like a monkey to the top of the middle bunk bed. I follow her, poking my head up to see her already forming a small ball in the corner. She barely covers a third of the mattress.

"You have to earn it," she whispers to me once I've climbed in. "Once you start bringing in money, you'll get certain privileges. Until then, I don't mind sharing my bed with you."

Although I'm relieved to have someone like little Rue as an ally, the strong weighing down feeling of _owing _someone stays launched in the back of my mind as the night grows quieter.

I hate owing things to people. Especially people I hardly know. Who knows what type of favors she might ask for in the future, holding this kind deed over my head? I've been there before, seemingly nice people just after something of better worth.

That's how I ended up here in the first place.

"Thank you," I mumble finally, and her tired eyes open just enough to flash me a gentle and crooked smile.

"You're welcome, it's not a problem."

"Hey brainless, shut the fuck up!" Johanna sounds from the other bunk. "I'm trying to get some damn sleep."

Rue rolls her eyes and I suppress the urge to join her. It's becoming painfully clear that Johanna runs the ship around here.

"You said your name is Katniss?" she whispers quieter.

I nod in response.

"I think we'll get along good, don't you?"

"Tiny, I will personally strangle you myself if I hear another word. Do _not _test me."

Rue bites her lip to keep from giggling then scoots her body in closer to my own. I can't help but feel a sense of normalcy tucked in close to this little girl.

It reminds me, for a moment of home.

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Thank you for reading and for those of you who left a review on the prologue. I know the chapters are a little short right now, but they'll get longer :) Also, I'm looking for a beta. If you're interested please let me know, it'd be a great help!

-Amelia Day


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

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Chapter Two

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I'm probably going crazy.

This is how madness begins, I'm sure.

Every time I wake, it seems the walls are closer together, caving me in, making the stale air harder to breathe until my breaths are coming out in short gasps and-

"Katniss, _calm down." _

-And Rue has to remind me to _calm down. _She shoves my head in between my legs and pats my back gently as I steady my breathing.

I feel pathetic and entirely useless-both of which are things I'm not very used to. Back home in Virginia, I was the "bread winner" so to speak. I took care of my family better than my mother did, after Dad's death, anyway.

When Dad died in the mines, Mom fell to pieces, and never fully recovered. She left Prim and I to fend for ourselves-essentially locking herself away in her room with a bottle of whiskey and anti-depressants.

We very well should have been put into a children's home, the way our own was falling apart. The only thing that saved us was our acting ability, and that my father was smart enough to teach me how to hunt.

I was only thirteen when he died, but he took me out with him at least twice a week, every week, if possible, from the time I was about six.

Prim and I lived off the game I could catch, the plants I could salvage and the small bit of money left over as compensation for my father's death. Besides that, we relied off the kindness of others-mostly our good friends, the Hawthornes, who not only kept the secret of our living arrangement, but helped us out from time to time when they had money to spare themselves.

When I had turned fifteen, I started cleaning an older lady's house a few blocks down from where we lived. Word spread like wild fire of my services, and soon I had a small-but profitable-business on my hands. That was a large weight lifted off of our shoulders.

Thinking back to my life in Virginia has my stomach tied in knots and my palms sweating. I truly am a sitting duck here-here, where I do nothing but sleep and wake up and sleep and cry and fend off my hungry stomach and sleep...

Sitting still is not my forte. I'm used to running through the woods openly, going where I pleased when I pleased.

It's been eleven days. Eleven days since I was first locked in here and haven't left since. The less sensible-more drastic part of me wants to beg Snow to take me wherever he takes the others each night, just to get out of here...

But judging by the lethargic and pained expressions on everyone's faces when they return, I know I'm much safer locked inside the cell.

It's bigger than I thought the original day I arrived. Not _big_ but bigger. Bigger than my room back home, smaller than the top level of my house.

About ten big steps wide and fifteen steps length wise. Small enough that we are always together, but big enough so it's not necessarily cramped.

There's a small table for eating, though it hardly ever is used. Most of the time, the rest of my inmates eat while they're out, but sometimes if I'm lucky, Rue sneaks me some of her leftovers back.

Cray brings me a small plate of food twice a day with a cup of luke warm water. It's a disgusting meal at best, but beggars cannot be choosers and I'm definitely not in the position to be picky.

In the corner, there's a hole that's low enough to the ground that you need to get on your hands and knees to slip underneath, molded from the same hard dirt the walls in the cell are made up of.

I first noticed it one night while the others were out and thought my eyes might be playing tricks on me. A _hole? _My mind immediately began racing to the possibilities of escape and where it might lead.

_Maybe the inmates _have_ been working on an escape plan!_

Before I could crawl through to explore, my mind got the better of me and warned me to stay away from the hole until I could ask what it was exactly.

It's pitch black inside, but Rue (who knows this cave like the back of her hand) led me through, the ceiling growing to the height of the main room as we ascend into the darkness until she places my hand on a metal basin.

"What is it?" I wondered quietly and she dipped my hand inside. Water-similar in temperature to the kind Cray brings me to drink-is filled half way inside the basin.

"To wash," Rue clarified. "There's three of them."

My stomach clenches at the foul stench the room holds. It's horrible, almost sickeningly so. Like urine and old feces, mixed with the heat of the underground.

My silence must have given away my line of thinking to Rue because she cleared her throat quietly.

"It's also the bathroom."

She offered to leave me so I could wash up myself for the first time since the capture, but I asked if she would stay. A dim light from the hole shines through, but it was still too dark for my liking. All I could picture was Snow lurking around in the pitch black.

Of course not him _physically_, but I could never fully shake the feeling of our being _watched. _

I've only washed once. Mostly because they only refill our water once every forty-eight hours, and since the others need it more than I do, I let them have first shot.

It must be early into the day or evening, because no one seems to be in any sort of rush and the wave of panic that usually encompasses the night has not yet fallen.

Johanna pulls the beaten metal chair out from under the table and turns it around backwards before sitting, so her arms lay on the backrest. She pulls a stack of cards out from her bra and begins setting them out in front of her.

I watch peculiarly and can't help but wonder to myself if where she attained the playing cards and what sort of trouble she'd be in if they were to find her with them.

"She earned them," a voice whispers right in my ear. I jump to find the blonde boy-who's name I learned is Finnick-standing above me, arms folded and mouth twisted upward in wicked amusement.

"You startle rather easily don't you?"

"Don't you?" I spit back, which erupts him into more laughter, until he's pushed himself right in my face.

Upon closer examination I'm surprised to find most of Finnick's defining characteristics are fake. The bleach blonde hair that first caught my eye is definitely dyed. Every couple of days the real tint of brown his natural hair holds starts to appear again. He leaves with brown streaks and comes back completely blonde again.

_They must use the cheap stuff, _I mused to myself the first time I noticed. _He's always scratching his head._

His teeth are also fake. Completely straight and blindingly bright. Rue told me one of my first nights here he's something of a "heart throb" at the club they disappear to every night.

"_A best seller." _she had said.

I shake the thoughts from my mind and have to ask Finnick to repeat the last thing he said. I know I saw his lips moving, but nothing came from them.

"I _said _she got them as a little privilege the other day."

"Old playing cards?"

Finnick shrugs. "Ain't like theres a lot to do around here otherwise, or like Snow's willing to cough up some cash. I'm sure he's making himself a pretty penny up there...but do you _really_ think he's going to spend more than he has to on his lowly slaves? You realize thats what we are Katniss, right? Slaves."

Finnick moves in closer to me until our faces can't be more than an inch away from one another's. He places his hand on my chin and tilts it up. I can feel his breath on my lips.

"Sex slaves," he whispers, dramatically.

I must look horrified because a second later he pulls away, hooting with laughter. I blink a few times and see quiet Annie rolling her eyes playfully at Finnick as Rue brushes through her long hair gently.

"You're such a bastard Fin," Johanna snickers, her eyes never leaving the cards below her.

"And you're a bitch, that's why we make such good frien-"

Finnick, and the rest of the laughter is cut off by the high pitched ring of a bell, signaling it'll be time to go in just one hour. It must be later than I thought.

Johanna kicks the chair out from under her, leaving the cards on the table before announcing she's going to wash up. Thresh and Annie join her in the bathing room within minutes of her initial exit.

Finnick seems unfazed by the bell-no signs of fright or nerve present in his body language. I think of the way the others' bodies tighten up, a sheer sheet of sweat forming over their brows when the bell rings and match it to his calm demeanor...

Then I wonder how long Finnick has been here.

"Peeta," he calls out, throwing a pillow at the lump thats facing a wall in the corner. "Time to get up, sunshine."

I try not to stare, but can't help but watch curiously as Peeta unravels himself from the thin sheet of a blanket he has and stretches his arms far over his head.

We've never really spoken since my time here. He doesn't speak much to anyone. Rue told me not to take it personally, that he doesn't mean to be rude only he's-

Then she cut off, biting her lip as if she had said too much.

"_He's..." _I hedged.

"_He's...different. I don't know much about him." _

I don't ask anymore questions, because it's not really my place to pry, especially as the newest member of the cell.

But Peeta didn't frighten me the way he seemed to the others. He reminded me of a close friend of mine back home, Gale.

Gale's father died in the same mining accident that took my father's life. Before that, our paths never really crossed. We grew up in the same neighborhood, went to the same school, but never really talked.

For one, he's two years older to me, which at thirteen might as well have been twenty years older. He was strong and broad and extremely tall for his age. In my eyes, I saw a man, the complete opposite of what I assumed he saw in me-a small and frightened child.

His father and my father had actually been good friends, along with my mother and Hazelle. Not as close as we became after the mining accident, but we looked after one another.

Mr. Hawthorne and Dad had a deal where they would trade goods the other needed a couple times a week. Dad would give Mr. Hawthorne some of the fresh game meat he'd catch and in return Mr. Hawthorne would load Dad up with bread and berries and other treats.

When they died, after a couple weeks of struggling to provide on our own, Gale and I sucked up our pride, much like our fathers, and formed an alliance.

I taught Gale how to hunt, reluctantly at first (because it was something my father and I would do together), but the logic behind it was hard to refute. Gale is strong and I am fast. We're both swift on our feet, and while I'm better with a bow and arrow, Gale excels in snares.

Within our first week of teaming up together, I not only doubled my game, but tripled it. Our friendship only blossomed from there.

There are distinct similarities between Peeta and Gale, and ways where they are nothing alike. When it comes to appearances, they couldn't be more opposite. Gale with his olive skin, dark brown hair and gray eyes; while Peeta is white as snow, blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

They're both tall, but Gale is taller.

They're both broad, but Peeta is definitely broader.

They both hold the same grimace in their lips, but Peeta's for some reason looks _deadlier. _Like he could easily snap my neck in two.

He stocks past me, as if I'm not even there, and crawls into the small wash room hole right as Johanna crawls out.

She makes a disgusted face in his direction and turns to Finnick.

"What's up his ass?"

"Nothing_ yet._"

"_Such_ a bastard..." she half grumbles under her breath.

Through the small air slit in the door, the sound of the door just across the hall opening and several pairs of feet filing out can be heard. Moments later, theres a loud _bang! bang!_ on our own door.

"Fifteen minutes!"

"Fifteen minutes!" Johanna echos so those in the wash room can hear. She throws on the same robe she always wears upstairs and shakes her hair out.

Not five minutes later the remaining bodies from the wash room single out, put on their own robes, and wait anxiously by the door.

It opens a few minutes later and Cray appears, flustered and drunk in the doorway. He stumbles in, carrying a bottle in one hand and jabbing a finger in our direction with the other.

"Y-you little _bitches _better...err..." he rambles off, watching the empty corner of the room suspiciously.

"Better?" Johanna tests and out of no where his hand flies up and pins her against the wall by the neck. She gasps out a breath but holds her stony expression, unwilling to give in.

The rest of us are frozen in horror.

Cray's face appears just inches from her own, breathing deeply and staring at her intently and hazily.

"You have something to say, _princess?" _he spits the last word, part of his saliva landing on her cheek.

"No."

"No, what?"

"No, Cray."

He shoves her hard, forcing her to the ground and challenges anyone else to speak up, or move a muscle to help her pick herself off the ground.

No one moves.

Johanna wouldn't have accepted help anyway, she's off her ass in less than four seconds, dusting the dirt off her robe.

"You think you're _better _than me?"

"No, Cray," we say in response to his rhetorical questions.

"I-I'm warning you fuckers, you don't want to mess with me. Remember the last time someone messed with m-me?" his hand rests on his side pocket, where a holster is strapped to his lip, loaded with a gun.

My heart sinks at the sight of it, and I'm not the only one to recoil. Angry drunk men don't do well with guns.

He leads the others out with the tip of his half empty beer bottle, only laughing himself into hysterics when some of the booze tips out and soak their backs.

"And you Ms. Everdeen!" he sneers, pointing back in my direction, one eye more focused in than the other. "Clean up this dump!"

The door slams a moment later and a silence washes over the room. It's then I realize I'm shaking, not all with terror, but with an underlying boiling hatred toward the man with the booze and the gun.

I shouldn't have expected anything less. Finnick summed it up right when he said we're slaves, and that's what happens to slaves, isn't it? If they step out of line, they're punished.

If the behavior continues, they're dead.

We mean nothing to Snow or Cray or anyone else holding this horrible fort down. Just like when they were sitting there talking about me as if I was miles away-however long ago I was in that dark room with them.

I'm inanimate. _Disposable. _Thinking anything more will have me dead.

I just can't give up that easily. It's not fair to Prim...or Gale.

I look around the room, wondering where exactly I'm supposed to begin in "cleaning" it. I know his command is not to be ignored, even if he is drunk. More likely, it's a command directly from Snow.

He doesn't seem like the drinking type.

I know the water will be renewed either late tonight or early tomorrow morning, so the first place I start is by taking one of the lit candles and making my way through the small hole, careful not to burn the light out.

I drain the old water into the small hole mean't for excretion purposes. If I wasn't sure that was what was to be done with it, I wouldn't have bothered, but I've seen Rue and Annie do it before.

When all three basins were bone dry I exited the foul smelling room and back into the brighter lit main room.

When I get off my hands and feet my heart feels like it's sunk down to my toes when I see Snow sitting on the edge of one of the mattresses.

He picks an invisible piece of lint off his shirt before turning up to look at me with snake eyes. His mouth turns up into a smirk when we make eye contact, and I have to tighten my grip on the candle for it not to fall.

"Hello Katniss."

"Mr. Snow."

"How've you been adjusting?"

_Like he really cares, _my mind snorts, but I pull myself together, arranging my face in a hard line, unreadable as I swallow thickly.

"I've been adjusting."

He chuckles throatily, shaking his head. "Well I'm glad to hear it. I want you to know Katniss that I'm not here to hurt you. I don't want to cause you any discomfort, or pain."

He rises to his feet, walking slowly to where I stand across the room.

"If you obey what I say to you and listen carefully, I don't think we'll have a problem at all."

His voice is menacingly quiet, almost as low as a whisper but a definite edge laced into it.

"Do you?"

"Nope," I spit back, popping my lips with the last syllable.

He reaches in my direction fast enough to make me flinch, but his hand finds my arm and tugs it toward him, lifting up the dirty sleeve of my tattered shirt.

"Your bruises are healing nicely," he notes, lifting my shirt over my stomach to examine it and my back. "Same for the scratches."

He notices where one has begun to scab over, but has obviously been picked and played with and has re-opened itself.

"Don't pick at those anymore," he commands, like he's scolding a small child. "They'll scar. Scars are ugly...you don't want scars."

"I already have scars. Tons of them," I smile sweetly, mockingly. "I guess you have no use for me now."

He raises an eyebrow at my gull and I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. Its hard to remember you're fighting for something when you keep thinking to yourself it'd be easier just to die.

_Prim and Gale. Prim and Gale. Especially Prim. Prim needs you. Shut up!_

"I have someone who can take care of that. Lets not give them more work than necessary, hmm?"

He lets go of my arm roughly and sends it crashing back into my body. I run a hand over where his fingers dug into my skin, leaving red press marks.

"You need an attitude adjustment Ms. Everdeen. You can do it yourself, or I can help you. It's your choice honestly, but I can assure you, you won't very much like my way."

Snow waltzes over to the door, running a finger over the handle before turning back, his blood red puffy lips pursing at my form.

"I'd say those bruises need...about five or six more days."

The door shuts tight after him and my breath is caught in a lump in my throat.

His words are simple enough, but behind them is an underlying meaning.

It's a warning of what's to come, and apparently soon.

In five or six more days.

* * *

Thank you again for reading and to everyone who left a review and added me to their favorites and/or alerts. I'm so glad you're liking the story so far. **Populardarling **has offered her services as my beta, so thank you to her for helping me out with this chapter and the ones to come.

I have a tumblr now, so if you'd like to follow me its: amelia **DASH** day **DOT** tumblr **DOT** com. Just replace the "dot"s and "dash" with actual period dots and a dash. Thanks!

Thanks again!

-Amelia Day


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

Thanks to populardarling for being an awesome beta-reader!

* * *

Chapter Three

* * *

"Wow."

I glance around at the puzzled faces which stand before me, all in bewilderment of what I've relayed to them.

"...What?"

"Five or six _days?" _Rue exclaims in shock, "He didn't let me onto the floor for five or six _weeks."_

"It _feels_ like I've been locked up here five or six weeks, you sure your mind wasn't playing tricks on you?" I tease, crossing my eyes and circling a finger around my head. It gets a giggle out of Rue.

"I stopped tallying days when he let me out of here," she says, shrugging toward the wall by the top bunk of her bed, where-with a sharp edge of a stone or a nail-she's placed marks into the hard dirt.

"Forty Two days. Six weeks."

My eyes widen at the thought of being trapped in here for nearly fifty days. The smell of dirt and feces lingering in the muggy air, the same four walls always surrounding you...

This place really is hell-and this is only my twelfth night. I look at Rue and wonder how long she's been here, and how much its changed her. How much it's likely to change me. I can't help but wonder what kind of lives my inmates led in their past lives, but I don't dare ask-not even Rue. Some things are too personal, even if you are in the same circumstances.

"What'd you do, blow him?" Johanna spits out, arms folded and head cocked to the side-completely disgusted.

"Wha-?" My eyes widen as realization crosses my mind and I feel my cheeks radiating heat as I feel the need to immediately begin defending myself. "_No! _O-of course not."

Johanna rolls her eyes and Finnick snickers at what I only assume has to be the most ridiculous expression planted on my face.

Peeta studies me for a moment longer than the others before moving in the direction of his bunk with a fake sounding yawn.

"Who gives a fuck what she had to do to get put on the floor?" he asks, everyone seeming shocked by the sound of his voice.

In the silence, he turns in our direction like we're a bunch of baboons.

"What? You all should be happy. The more people working up there the less work that has to be done."

Johanna shrugs in casual agreement before stripping down to an old cotton bra and underwear. The others don't hesitate to follow her example and sluggishly strip away unnecessary clothing from their sweaty and red bodies.

"I can't wait for winter," Rue groans in frustration, pulling her hair up with an old rubber band.

"I'll remind you of that when you're freezing your ass off, trying to climb into my bed," Thresh mumbles, patting her jokingly on the back.

She chuckles, a short and hardly audible sound before scurrying up the top bunk like a small squirrel.

"You like winter, Katniss?" Finnick asks me a moment later.

I could do without it. There were several times back in Virginia I wished we lived just _a little _further south during the five and a half months of winter. It made game hard to come by and plants wither to nothing.

Prim and I nearly starved to death the first winter after Dad's death.

Images of Prim's frail form curled up on her bed under piles of blankets flashes to the front of my mind-her skin thin and translucent, lips blue and cracked. Primrose, dying.

Goosebumps break out along my arms and Finnick raises an eyebrow as he spots them. I run a hand over the skin to soothe it before turning in the opposite direction of him, up toward the bed.

"No. Not really."

"Shame," he sighs, "You're in for a long one ahead."

"Can't see much snow trapped down here," I yawn, piling into the bed beside Pr-I mean, Rue. _Rue. _

Finnick snickers, standing on top of the bed below our bunk to peer over the top at me.

"Yeah, but you'll feel it. There's no happy medium here in paradise, and if you think _this_ is bad..."

"Don't freak her out, Finn," Thresh grumbles. "Let her figure it out for herself."

The remaining candles are blown out and silence overtakes the room. Rue snuggles close to my form, like she has in nights past and I listen as her breathing grows shallower. Idly, I begin running my fingers through her hair, like I used to Prim's.

Rue's hair is shorter and thicker than Prim's, and her tight curls makes it hard to weave my fingers through, so instead, I simply run a flat palm over the top of her head and down to her neck.

I let my mind wander back to Virginia and the people I've left behind there. I have no clue where we are exactly, so there's no telling what time of day it is there. Still, it's hard not to imagine her curled up in bed at this hour, hopefully dreaming peaceful thoughts.

Hopefully not alone.

Even with mother there, she'd be alone. What will that woman do for her? It actually feels like my breathing has ceased at the possible thought of Mother getting _worse _after my disappearance.

When Father died, sure Mother was _around, _but she hasn't _been _with us since. The idea of Prim having no one there for her, having to step up and care for herself at such a tender age has range and fright and possibly a hundred other emotions bubbling under my skin.

"Katniss?"

I jump at the sound of my voice.

It's Rue, who lays entwined with me, studying my face in concentration.

"Yes?" I hardly recognize my own voice as I respond.

"You were squeezing me. Are you alright?"

I run a soothing hand over her head once more and will her to sleep. It takes only moments to hear the steady breathing passing through her lips.

_Gale is caring for Prim. You know he is. He won't let her starve, or freeze or anything. He's caring for her. _I know these words I chant to myself are true, but feelings of helplessness and hopelessness creep in, turning and twisting my stomach nauseatingly.

This is all I can do.

For now.

All I can do for Prim is hope.

It feels like my eyes have barely shut when I'm startled awake to the sound of the door crashing open, revealing Cray and three of his men.

I glance around at the bewildered expressions of the other inmates, and watch as their faces turn from fatigued to frightened.

"Did we oversleep?" Rue whispers, her eyes wide and small hands gripping the sheet on top of us. I take her hand in my own, squeezing it reassuringly.

"Katniss Everdeen?"

"Yes?" I respond.

Cray motions with his hand for me to come forward, "Come with me."

I hop down from the bed and walk forward until I'm standing beside him. He snaps his finger quickly and two of his three helpers grip their hands tight around my arms-as if I would even know _how_ to escape.

He shuts the door tight behind him and locks it before we start down the same dirt paths we took to get here what feels like so long ago.

Although I don't dare show it, I can't help but be a little excited about finally being freed from the dungeon. Of course _excitement_ is the stupidest thing to feel, seeing as I have no idea where I'm being lead to.

Even though every twist and turn we make look the same, it's refreshing to feel as though I'm somewhere new. After staring at those four cell walls for what seems like centuries, _any_ new scenery is welcomed.

Cray ties a blindfold over my eyes and then I hear a door being kicked open.

I can't see a thing, but the darkness behind the blindfold grows a little lighter and the scent and pressure of the air changes. We're outside. Most likely they've blindfolded me because after days in the darkness, the suns rays would be unbearable.

I wonder how long its been since the others have seen the light of day.

We trudge along for several more minutes in silence before I hear the jingling of Cray's keys and am launched to the ground. The blindfold is ripped from my head and I have to squint to look around the room properly.

It's completely white. Low lighting, but brighter than the kind we have in our small cave. There's four cot-type beds that look a lot like the kind the school used to have in the nurses office and curtains around each one.

It's the cleanest room I've seen since my arrival.

"She smells like a pig pen," I hear one of the men say, the other snickering along.

"Venia! Flavius! Octavia!"

Whatever Cray has just yelled bounces off the walls and echoes. I chance glancing up, not sure whats going to happen or from what angle. My body is tense and guarded.

A soft clicking sound heard in the distance grows louder and closer before three clown-like people emerge from the thin doorway off to the side.

Their hardly human appearance is frightening. The way their skin has been stretched and molded to give the allusion of youth, the thick and long eyelashes-like a horse, glittering skin and flamboyant hair and clothing.

It's like nothing I've ever seen before, not even on the television. Up close, it's apparent they're much older than they'd like to let on.

"Oh! What have we got here?" The plumpest of the three asks with a high pitched voice. She waves a chubby hand at me like I'm an infant...or a dog...

"Fix her up," Cray growls, giving my back one final kick. I stay facing the ground until I hear the doors behind me slam and click.

The three pairs of feet in front of me are encased in large, uncomfortable looking shoes.

"_Well," _the only man of the three scoffs, "isn't she going to be a handful."

"What's your name, dear?"

The word "dear" on her lips sounds too sweet, like cotton candy, and makes me sick. I don't respond and one of them snorts.

"Stand up."

I do as I'm told and the three clowns look me over with curious and calculating eyes.

"I'm Venia. This is Octavia and Flavius," The thin tall woman, Venia, introduces."We're not here to hurt you, just to make you look beautiful," she beams.

"Like you?" the comment is meant to be sarcastic, but it flies over their heads as they grin excitedly.

"Exactly."

The one introduced as Octavia places her hands on my back and guides me through the narrow opening they emerged from moments earlier. She instructs me to lie down on top of one of the cots and then the frightening trio split in separate directions and disappear completely.

I lie completely still until the clicking of their heals cease and all thats left is the irregular patter of water coming from the sink to my right.

"Don't go crazy Flavius! We were only instructed to clean her up before Cinna has to handle her," Venia hisses before appearing above me and smiling down much like a snake.

The three prattle on as if I'm not in the room, poking and prodding at me, lifting limbs here and there, judging me and preparing me for the slaughter.

_She stinks!_

_She needs a scrub down._

_Look at all this hair! Yuck!_

_It's a rats nest on top of her head._

I close my eyes at the first yank on my scalp and tighten my grip on the cot below me.

While Flavius detangles my hair, the two women begin their "head-to-toe wax job." They start at my ankles and work their way up, giggling and apologizing as I wince at every pull.

"If you weren't so hairy, child!"

"It's alright, it'll hurt a hell of a lot less in the future. You just sort of get used to it."

Why do I get the feeling we're no longer talking about the waxing?

Flavius finishes combing through my hair and moves on to lather it with shampoos and conditioners and shiners while Octavia shapes and polishes my nails, and Venia rubs some sort of tingling cream on every inch of my skin.

My butt has gone numb and it feels as if it's been days when they finally sit me up and admire their work, throwing a robe over my bare body.

"You're actually not half bad once you're all cleaned up!" Octavia praises, twisting a chunk of my hair in her finger.

"Cinna will be pleased. Shall we get him?"

"Stay here," Flavius instructs before the giddy trio dash out of the room and leave me to silence once more.

I look at myself in the mirror and am hardly recognizable. My long hair-which is hardly ever down-curls unnaturally down my neck and back and smells of perfumes. My nails, usually caked with dirt and jagged edges, seem foreign as I inspect them.

I feel like a plucked chicken and can't help but think of what Gale might think if he could see me now.

He'd probably laugh, actually. Fall over on his ass and laugh until his stomach hurt. The image in my mind has the edges of my mouth pull up into a slight smirk. I immediately erase it once I catch a glance of it in the mirror.

_Stop it. You have no right thinking that way, _I inwardly chastise myself. The thought of Gale has me thinking of home which makes my stomach twist almost blindingly so. I swallow heavily to keep from vomiting.

_You have to be more careful. _

"So, you can smile?"

My head whips around at the sound of another's voice, a man who stands quietly in the corner with his arms crossed and face unreadable. There's no telling how long he's been standing there, observing me, but obviously long enough to have caught me reminiscing.

Did he think I was smiling at my appearance, or something silly like that?

He steps forward. He's a tall man-clean cut-wearing all black with just a dash of gold above his eyelids. Completely understated compared to the three fools who were in here earlier.

He folds his arms across his chest and makes one full circle around me.

"Katniss, was it?"

I nod.

"I'm Cinna. I'll be your stylist, for all intents and purposes."

I can only imagine what I'd need to be "styled" for.

"My job is to make sure you're remembered in a positive light. Make people like you."

_So the very last shred of my dignity can be sold away?_

My look must be lethal because he takes half a step in the other direction, casting an awkward glance off to the side.

"So, how many others have you put in "positive light?'" I ask, my tone sharper than I intend. Instinctively I curl into myself, fully expecting a blow for having such a quick tongue.

To my surprise, this man laughs-_genuinely _laughs, and not full of malicious intent or sarcastically either. He lets out a short chuckle and shrugs his shoulders.

"You'd be the first my dear."

I raise an eyebrow in suspicion and he raises one right back.

"The first?"

He nods.

I wonder how he ever got into this line of business. Is he in cahoots with Snow? Is he forced here against his will like the rest of us? There's so many questions I wish I could ask the presumably kind man, but there's just too much at risk.

He places a hand on my kneecap and I fight the urge to jerk it away, because the action seems genuine.

"I'm here to help you make an impression."

"How do you plan on doing that?"

"You'd be surprised at the plans I have for you, my dear."

* * *

The sun has long set when I'm taken back to the catacomb prison. This time, Cray doesn't make me wear the blindfold, but he does force a tight hood over my head like he had my first trip down the dungeons.

I notice things I hadn't my first couple of trips this time. Like the other doors that surely lead to other holding chambers. Cray knocks on a couple of them, yelling out random times and waiting for a response.

It's hard to remember anyone else exists down here besides my inmates and myself, but this is a chain and I am nothing but the newest link.

I'm thrown back into the pit, and Cray calls out a half an hour to the others before slamming it shut.

Rue appears at my side in an instant and her eyes widen as she takes in my new alterations.

"_Wow," _she says for the second time in twenty-four hours.

"Damn, you actually don't resemble a caveman anymore."

"Need I remind you how _you _looked before they prettied you up, Jo?" Finnick smirks, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

Johanna's smile falls and turns into a deadly glower.

"She had _horrible _hair," he continues on. "Thick and long and just awful! They had to shave it all off, nothing else they could do."

"Shut_ up_, Finnick."

"Oh, and you should have seen her skin..."

Rue lets out a chuckle right before Johanna kicks the plastic chair over with a thud.

"Damnit Finnick, I said shut the fuck up!"

"What? You can dish it, but you can't take it?"

"You didn't look so good yourself Finnick," Rue snickers. "Big crooked buck teeth, zit face-"

"Now Rue, you promised that was _our_ secret. I'm gonna have to kill you now!"

He picks her up into his arms and begins tickling her mercilessly. It's the first time this place truly feels like a home, and even I can't help but release a small, relieved smile before mentioning something about freshening up quickly.

"Peeta's in there, just a heads up."

I crawl through the small hole and am surprised at the brightness of the candles that shine in the space. Off to the side, Peeta sits in one of the tubs, his head lulled back and eyes shut.

I blush, turning away from him in embarrassment. Although I'm sure the others would tease me if they knew my cheeks tingled at the thought of seeing another man in a tub. After all they've seen. Nudity has always made me partially uncomfortable.

"Katniss?"

I turn toward his voice and then clamp a hand over my eyes.

"I...uh, sorry."

"What did they do to you?"

I peek through my fingers at his calculated expression, studying me with a look I can't quite decipher. Like he wants to hug and possibly punch me simultaneously.

"What? You don't like it?" I say, attempting humor, but it falls flat immediately.

"I'm sorry," he whispers quietly after several moments of silence.

"Why?"

He motions for me to hand him the towel thats balled in the corner of the room. I extend my arm to pass it to him without catching sight of anything I might not want to see, then turn my back to him.

"You get what this means, right?" he asks, his voice low with an edge of viciousness to it.

"That my days are numbered?"

"You're almost out of time," he mumbles. "Did you need to use this or something?"

I turn back in his direction and am glad the lighting is low enough to not pick up on my ever reddening cheeks, as he's clad only in a towel.

He's pointing to the tub and I nod timidly.

"But uh...I'll wait, until...you know, you...leave." I stutter out.

He nods, running a hand through his dripping hair and crawling out of the small hole. He turns right before fully emerging to the main room and casts me a sad grimace.

"Better get over that fear fast."

* * *

Thank you for reviewing and adding 'Hide and Seek' to your alerts/favorites! It means a lot to me. :) Feel free to follow me on tumblr. Details on my profile.

-Amelia Day


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